It may properly be here remarked that from the outskirts of the force firing had been seen at the camp as late as nearly four o’clock; and about six, large bodies of the enemy were seen retiring from the camp, through openings in the Ingqutu range.
When a move was first made by the General in the direction of the camp, an officer who was in advance narrates what he saw when he came to a rising ground from which the camp was first seen:
“There certainly were some tents standing then, but seemed very few, and away to the left front of the camp there was some smoke, though not much, and it was high up, just as if there had been musketry fire and the smoke had floated away; but there was certainly no musketry fire going on then. A few seconds afterwards a sergeant ... said: ‘There go the guns, sir.’ I could see the smoke, but we could hear nothing. In a few seconds we distinctly saw the guns fired again, one after the other, sharp. This was done several times—a pause, and then a flash—flash! The sun was shining on the camp at the time, and then the camp looked dark, just as if a shadow was passing over it. The guns did not fire after that, and in a few minutes all the tents had disappeared. The sergeant said, ‘It’s all over now, sir.’ I said, ‘Yes, and I hope it is the right way.’ We could see there was fighting going on, but of course did not know which way it had gone. The men all thought the Zulus had retired, but I felt doubtful in my own mind, but had no idea really of the catastrophe that had taken place.... This must have been about 3 P.M.”
“Within two miles of camp,” Lieutenant Milne says, “four men were seen slowly advancing in front of us; a few mounted men were sent out; the men in front previously seen then took cover behind some rocks, but were fired upon by our men; one fell, the remainder ran out in the open, throwing up their hands to show they were unarmed. On being taken prisoners, they were found to be Native Contingent, escaped from the massacre.”—(P. P. [C. 2454] p. 185).
On nearing the camp it was nearly dark, but it was observed that waggons were drawn up across the neck; the guns were therefore brought into action and shelled them. Then, no sound being heard, Major Black, with a wing of his regiment, moved forward to occupy the small hill close to Isandhlwana. No enemy was seen, and the camp was found tenanted by those who were taking their last long sleep.
A halt was made for the night amidst the débris of (the proper right of) the camp, on the “neck;” the infantry covering the west, and the mounted troops and guns the east side. During the night there were one or two false alarms, and the whole force, at early dawn, moved off towards Rorke’s Drift, as the General was anxious about the safety of that important post; also the troops had no spare ammunition,[143] but little food, and “it was certain that daylight would reveal a sight which could not but have a demoralising effect upon the whole force.”—(P. P. [C. 2252] p. 76).
In Lord Chelmsford’s despatch of 27th January, he gives a narrative of the attack on the camp, but remarks “the absolute accuracy of which, however, I cannot vouch for” (pp. 76, 77). On comparing his “narrative” with the facts, it will be found to be absolutely inaccurate. But Lord Chelmsford makes some remarks which cannot be passed, over in silence. He says: “Had the force in question but taken up a defensive position in the camp itself, and utilised there the materials for a hasty entrenchment;” but he does not point out how the “force in question” was to know of the near approach of the Zulu army, he himself having neglected to search the country where that army lay. He had prepared no “defensive position;” but he had selected a fatal spot for his camp, which, covering a front of about half a mile, was utterly indefensible as it stood; and he had “pooh-poohed” the suggestion of taking defensive precautions when made by Colonel Glyn; and, further, it does not appear that there was any time whatever for the “force in question” to do anything but fight. Lord Chelmsford then says: “It appears that the oxen were yoked to the waggons three hours before the attack took place, so that there was ample time to construct that waggon-laager which the Dutch in former days understood so well.” This remark comes with peculiar ill-grace from Lord Chelmsford, who not only had not taken any precautions, but had not permitted any laager or other defence to be made; and whose reply to a suggestion of a laager at Isandhlwana was, “It would take a week to make.” Also it must not be forgotten that the attack on Isandhlwana was without warning.
He next says: “Had, however, the tents been struck, and the British troops placed with their backs to the precipitous Isalwana Hill, I feel sure that they could have made a successful resistance.” Here again he would blame the dead to cover the faults of the living! But even had the troops been thus placed (as some eventually appear to have been), how long could they keep at bay, when ammunition failed,[144] an enemy armed with weapons they could use with fatal effect out of reach of the bayonet?
And lastly, Lord Chelmsford speaks of rumours “that the troops were deceived by a simulated retreat,” and thus “drawn away from the line of defence.” The facts prove the exact contrary. The only person deceived by a “simulated retreat” was Lord Chelmsford himself, whose troops during three hours had advanced “against a Zulu force that fell back from hill to hill ... giving up without a shot most commanding positions.” And where was their “line of defence?” We do not find one word of Lord Chelmsford’s own want of the most ordinary precautions—his want of “intelligence,” and neglect to obtain it—of his seeing the enemy’s mounted scouts on the left front, and intending (but not making) a reconnaissance in that direction—his fixed belief that the enemy could only be in force in his front—the transparent way in which he was drawn off farther from the camp—the absence of any attention to the signs that something was wrong at the camp—the prevention of assistance reaching the beleaguered camp when one of his officers had recognised the emergency, etc.; to which must be added that we do not find one word of regret for the untimely fate of the gallant men who fell doing their duty. In justice to Colonel Glyn, commanding No. 3 Column, it must be remarked that the General himself gave the orders for the various movements, etc. And in justice to Lord Chelmsford also, we note it is asserted that the shock he experienced told severely upon him at the time; and he may not have very carefully studied the despatch, which was the work of his military secretary.
Before finally leaving the events of the 22nd January, we must fully notice an important episode that occurred, and which had a serious bearing on the disaster we have to lament.